


Break

by gals_being_pals



Category: The Fall (TV 2013), The X-Files
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gals_being_pals/pseuds/gals_being_pals
Summary: Spring break. Dana Scully. Stella Gibson. Who knew shipping Gillian Andersons with each other in AUs would be the reason I came back to fanfiction..?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back! OUAT became too much to cope with, but I recently discovered that people write fic about Stella Gibson and Dana Scully, and I WANT IN. So here we are. Apologies if my writing’s a bit rusty – it’s been a while...

Spring break. Spring break, the time for drinking, sunshine, wet t-shirt contests, letting your hair down... Dana Scully shuddered to think. Not because those ideas didn’t appeal to her. They did. She shuddered because she was doing none of them. Instead, she was alone in her dorm room, practically alone in her dorm, studying for her exams because she wanted to get into med school. She groaned at the notes and textbooks in front of her. Did she really need to be here?

The trouble was, she didn’t really know anything else. This was the fourth year she’d stayed, alone, while everyone she knew spent their (or their parents’) hard earned money on vacations they’d remember for the rest of their lives. Actually, considering the levels of inebriation judging by the various pictures she saw on Facebook, maybe they wouldn’t remember, but they’d remember that they went, which was the main thing.

Dana would remember particle structures. She drummed her fingers on the desk, swerving her attention away from her laptop and her jealousy, and back to her notes.

“I could be there if I wanted to be,” she told herself firmly. “But I don’t. I don’t want to be. I want to be here, I want to go to medical school.”

Even as she said it, the words felt alien. They belonged to her father, even her mother. They didn’t belong to her. And yet, she had no others, no other plans or options or ideas.

Her red hair, escaping its functional ponytail, tumbled into her line of vision. She pushed it back and readjusted her glasses.

She made it to the end of the chapter, then granted herself a reprieve. She could go for a walk, at least, while it was still sunny. Not as warm as Florida, maybe, but not bad.

She put on a jacket, grabbed her phone, keys, and credit card, and left the room. The dorms were hauntingly deserted; the whole of campus was like a ghost town. Even the few staff who remained were surly and reluctant, resenting people like her for forcing them to work while everybody else took a much-needed vacation. Dana walked outside feeling uncomfortable about her very existence. She told herself not to be so silly. Even telling herself that felt silly. She rolled her eyes, and kept walking.

There was a river, nearby, so she walked along that. It was late, 9pm. She hadn’t eaten, she realised, so she took a path leading into town. At this hour, at this time of year, her choices were limited – Taco Bell or Wendy’s. She’d had a taco yesterday.

Wendy’s wasn’t busy; she ordered a burger and fries and wished the soda machines, with all their ludicrous options, could dispense beer. Maybe she could buy beer. And drink it alone in her room. Watching Netflix. Eating ice cream. Living it fucking up.

“I should have gone to Florida,” she told no one in particular.

“I’m not in Florida,” no one in particular responded, causing Dana to jump what felt like several feet in the air.

Stella had been watching the girl, woman she should say, over her chocolate frosty and fries. She’d walked in, moping, had given the soda machine a violent glare, and was now looking frantically around the room to determine who had spoken, a delightful blush rising to her cheeks. Stella waved, smiling a coquettish smile.

Dana collected her tray and considered ignoring the devastating blonde sitting in a booth in the corner of the restaurant. The trouble was, she was not a person it was at all easy to ignore. And Dana was lonely. And interested.

It beat solitary Netflix and Chill, anyway.

Dana sat at the booth, presenting her most confident self, which was pretty damn badass.

“Stella Gibson,” Stella said, wiping her hand on a napkin and holding it out.

Dana wondered if she was supposed to shake it or kiss it. Stella was British, and upper class British at that. From the movies, lady in a ballgown British, with hair like a Disney princess and eyes like blueish steel.

“Dana Scully,” Dana said, opting to shake.

Stella returned to her meal, watching Dana unwrap the burger.

“Why should you be in Florida?” Stella asked.

Dana paused in her meticulous unfolding of the wrapper and looked up, ever polite.

“Everyone I know is there. It’s Spring break.”

“I’m aware of the time of year. But now you know me, so that’s half your problem solved.”

“What makes you so sure that you’re a solution?”

Stella chuckled. “What makes you question the fact?”

Dana narrowed her eyes. “Are you a student?”

“Yes.”

“At the university?”

“No, of the Kama Sutra.”

She said it so seriously, Dana wasn’t entirely sure that she was joking.

“Yes, at the university. Don’t look so flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“Whatever you say, darling. Are you a student?”

“Yes, pre-med.”

“Ah, so we share an interest in the human body. Although I like mine alive when I examine them, and they only let you students work on dead ones.”

“Stop it, I’m trying to eat.”

“Sorry,” Stella said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

“What do you study?” Dana asked, hoping for a change of subject.

“Back home I study law, but here I’m taking a variety of classes. Women’s History, Psychology, World Politics, and Music.”

“Music?”

“Interestingly, that’s the only one my father wouldn’t have questioned. Yes, music. I play the piano.”

“Are you any good?”

“That depends on the audience. So, Scully – may I call you Scully?”

“Why do you want to call me Scully?”

“It suits you.”

Dana – Scully paused. She had never been called Scully. She was always Dana, nice, obedient Dana, studious, polite, sweet, little Dana.

“Okay.”

“Excellent. So, Scully, why didn’t you go to Florida with everyone you know, except me?”

“I have to study for finals,” Scully said, sounding unconvinced.

“At least pretend to mean it.”

Scully sighed. “I don’t know. I wasn’t actually invited to go with anyone,” she admitted.

Stella raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “Why not? What’s wrong with you?”

Scully looked annoyed.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, you’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re at least reasonable to talk to and if I’m honest I find you rather compelling.”

“You’ve known me for all of five minutes.”

“Which is why I asked what’s wrong with you. Maybe I should run.”

Scully felt a giggle rise in her throat. A _giggle_.

“I’m boring,” she said, but she was smiling.

“I disagree. Boring people don’t sit with strangers in Wendy’s.”

“Do they sit alone in Wendy’s?” Scully asked provocatively.

Stella smirked. “Perhaps, but if so, they don’t intrude on strangers’ conversations with themselves. You might want to work on that, by the way. Internal dialogue is internal for a reason. The reason is, if you say it out loud lesser people than myself might think you’re crazy.”

“I suppose I’m glad you’re not lesser, then.”

“As you should be. I could also be insane myself. I have been told I have a rather anomalous personality.”

“In what way?”

“I’m cold. Heartless. And I say what I think, even if I know it will upset people.”

“At least you’re honest. Perhaps honesty is enough to make you an anomaly.”

“Interesting point. These people, that didn’t invite you to Florida – do you consider them your friends?”

“I’m not very good at making friends,” Scully said, speaking as if she didn’t care.

“Rubbish. You’re making friends with me.”

“Only because you’re making friends with me.”

“You didn’t have to sit with me.”

“Didn’t I?”

Stella chuckled. “I do have a way of making people do what I want. But you’re no pushover. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want to.”

Scully sighed. “I like to think so, generally. But I’m beginning to realise I do a lot of things I don’t really want to do.”

“So stop,” Stella said, as if it was that simple.

“Would that I could.”

“Why can’t you?”

Scully eyed her burger hungrily; it trumped the need to answer properly.

“I don’t know,” she said, taking a large bite before Stella could push for a better response.

Stella didn’t make a habit of questioning her own decisions. She knew she made good ones, and her instinct, having served her well for the past twenty-two years, deserved respect. But the pull in her gut towards Scully was something she would have found difficult to explain, had she tried. There were reasonable answers on the surface – Scully was smart, beautiful, funny... But there was something deeper than that. Something she’d seen in Scully’s eyes when she first walked in, something... Something incredibly lonely and incredibly sad. Something Stella knew all too well. Something Stella knew all too well about hiding, too.

She allowed Scully to eat in silence, picking at her own food absent-mindedly. They left together without discussion, walking nowhere in particular. Stella paused outside a liquor store.

“How old are you?” she asked suddenly, realising she’d assumed Scully was her age with no actual proof.

“Twenty-two.”

Again, her gut was accurate. She went inside, leaving Scully to smoke on the sidewalk.

“I thought you were going to be a doctor,” she said, grinning as she left the store and lit her own cigarette. 

“Everybody needs a vice.”

Stella hummed, inhaling deeply. “But there are better vices, surely.”

Scully caught something in her eyes that was dangerously suggestive. She blamed her imagination.

“Like boys?” she couldn’t help asking.

“You cut to the chase, don’t you? I wasn’t thinking of boys, no,” Stella said. She could see Scully’s interest and indulged herself slightly, teasing her new friend.

“Then what were you thinking of?” Scully asked, the oddness of the situation making her bold.

Stella smiled a wicked smile. “Have a drink with me and I’ll tell you.”

“Done.”

They walked. Stella seemed to have somewhere in mind; she walked with purpose now and Scully had to walk quickly to keep up, despite being in flats beside Stella’s high-heeled boots.

Eventually, Stella slowed. They were much further along the river, almost out of town, and they were at the edge of a dam. Stella began to climb the concrete stairs leading to the top of it, looking back to see Scully’s reaction. To her delight, Scully was entirely unfazed, climbing behind her and walking out into the middle. Stella sat and passed out beer.

“So, sitting comfortably?” she asked.

Scully lit another cigarette; Stella held out her hand for a drag. They both knew she had her own, but Scully shared anyway, enjoying the contact, the connection.

“Why don’t you start?” Stella suggested.

“Me?” Scully asked.

“You. What are your vices?”

Scully was tempted to say she didn’t have any, but she had the feeling this was a game, and she very much wanted to play.

“One for one?”

“Sounds fair to me.”

Scully swigged her beer. “Drinking,” she said.

“I take it we can’t repeat?”

“Why don’t we drink if we do it too?”

Stella chuckled, then produced a bottle of whisky from her liquor store bag.

“I was hoping you might say that.”

She unscrewed it and took a swig.

“And now for my own,” she said thoughtfully. “Casual sex.”

She watched as Scully drank from her beer, but not the whisky.

“Ice cream,” Scully said, easing back from the adult themes, more nervous than she’d like to be.

Stella drank from the whisky again.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”

“I’m not!”

“You were the one that suggested making this a drinking game.”

“I didn’t know you had whisky,” Scully pointed out.

“Still, if I fall to my death, I’m holding you responsible.”

They both looked down to the water far below them. It was eerily beautiful.

“You’ll be dead, you won’t be holding anyone anything.”

“Touché. But I’m going to have to up the ante.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Masturbating.”

The way she said it made it sound like the dirtiest word in the world, and even though Stella had been the one to broach the topic, Scully found herself blushing crimson as she reached for the whisky.

“Hey, there’s no shame in it,” Stella said, grinning. “Be proud you know how to get yourself off.”

Scully drank more deeply than the game required, wanting to emulate the blonde’s confidence. She could play dirty, too.

“Teasing people,” she said, passing the bottle directly to Stella.

“You have to say things you do, too,” Stella said, drinking.

“I’ve been known to tease people,” Scully defended.

“Teasing people _sexually_ ,” Stella said.

Scully reached for the bottle. Stella cackled. Scully realised she was nearly drunk enough for her favourite vice. She put the bottle between them, watching Stella’s eyes.

“Being attracted to women,” Scully said. “Especially powerful women.”

Stella forced herself to move tantalisingly slowly, raising her hand only to pause, watching Scully’s face, before picking up the whisky and drinking with relish. She licked her lips.

“Relieved?” she asked.

Scully laughed. “I’m glad my instincts haven’t failed me, let’s put it like that.”

“Picking up strangers in strange places,” Stella said. Scully didn’t drink.

“Doing what I’m told because I can’t think of anything better.”

Stella didn’t drink, but she lit another cigarette.

“That surprises me, you know. You’re not shy, you seem even more confident than I expected.”

“That’s the whisky.”

“Maybe. But still, there’s no reason for you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I don’t. Not really. I guess I’m just in a funk because I’m not on vacation.”

“Vacation isn’t a place, it’s a state of mind,” Stella said airily. “I can throw my beer over you if you like, so you’ll feel more like you’re at a party.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass. It’s your turn.”

“Ah, yes. My many discrepancies. Lying.”

“What kind of lying?”

“That’s not part of the game.”

Scully sighed, and took a drink.

“Doesn’t everybody lie?” she asked.

“Perhaps they do, but about different things.”

“Fantasising about teachers.”

Stella drank, then looked delighted at an idea. She looked right at Scully, gauging her reaction like a game of hot and cold. She was hiding it well, but Stella was sure there was more to this. She wanted to push it, but she hadn’t done what she was beginning to think Scully had done. That would explain a lot. The friends, the not going on Spring break, the loneliness, now, because such a thing could never really work out. Stella grinned wickedly, fuelled by the thrill of finding something out, uncovering a secret. But a suspicion wasn’t enough. She needed Scully to say it.

“Acting on my fantasies,” she said.

Scully paused. “Any fantasies?”

Stella nodded. “Any.”

“So, again, something everyone does,” Scully said, aiming for scorn, steering away from something that was still fairly raw.

“Skinny dipping,” Scully said.

Stella drank, but she wasn’t ready to let go. She wanted the secret, she wanted the story.

“I want to play a different game. Truth or dare.”

“We’re too drunk for dares.”

“Okay... Truth or drink.”

“Because that’s the logical solution to being too drunk.”

“We’re not that drunk.”

“Fine, we can play. I’m running out of vices, anyway.”

Stella was too determined to waste time.

“Ready?” she asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Scully said, expecting something more about masturbating or attraction to women.

“Have you ever had sex with one of your professors?”

Scully realised, as she reached for the whisky, that this was just as damning as saying yes. She also realised that her heart had plummeted to her stomach, and that her eyes were prickling with something like betrayal. Why was Stella asking this? How did she know?

“A guy?” Stella asked, forgetting herself.

Scully still had the bottle in her hand, but she slammed it down between them with so much force that it broke.

“Why are you pushing this?” she demanded. “Know when to stop, Stella!”

With that, she stood, walking back along the dam. She heard Stella scramble to follow her, but resisted the temptation to turn around. She’d be fine. It was wide, she wasn’t going to fall.

She managed not to turn until they were both back on solid ground, and she only did then because Stella called her.

“Scully, please.”

She got the feeling Stella did not often beg.

“What?”

“I just wanted to know,” Stella said. Scully turned away. She’d been expecting an apology, not a meaningless excuse.

“Whatever,” she said. “It’s late. I’m going home.”

“You shouldn’t walk alone,” Stella said.

Scully groaned. She wasn’t worried for herself, but Stella was beautiful, drunk, and in a foreign city.

“Do you live on campus?” she asked angrily.

“Yes,” Stella said.

“Fine. Walk.”

“I really don’t see why you’re so...”

“Shut up!”

Stella, finally, got the message, and they walked in silence. Scully wished there was more whisky. She lit a cigarette, fuming.

Stella walked, breathing in the cool air, drowning her tipsy remorse into sobering irritation. Scully was being overly sensitive, Stella hadn’t said anything wrong. Scully had even brought up the topic. And Stella had exploited her disclosure- No, no, they had both been teasing each other, it was only a game. Scully had no right to be so stroppy about it. Or to waste all that whisky. Good whisky, too.

By the time they reached campus, Stella had worked herself up to be almost as angry as her companion, though to whom the anger was directed, Scully or herself, remained uncertain. They parted ways and Scully returned to her room, telling herself this was why she didn’t like college students. They were all the same, immature and mean, even the ones who seemed nice at first.

Nice was a pathetic word for Stella Gibson, though. And the thing was, despite her anger, Scully was still glad she hadn’t spent the evening alone. She’d had fun. More fun than she’d had in weeks, in months, maybe.

And now she’d never see Stella again.

Good, she thought bitterly. Good riddance.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t even convince her head, let alone her other body parts, that she really felt that way.

Stella went to bed with a feeling she hardly recognised. As soon as she left Scully, her anger evaporated. Her eyes prickled, her cheeks flushed, and she felt... She felt _guilty_. She’d done wrong, and she knew it. She’d ignored the person, the friend in front of her, and she’d gone straight for the story. She’d hit Scully where she was most sensitive, and now she was facing the consequences of doing that to someone who knew how to stand up for themselves.

“You deserve to be alone,” Stella muttered to herself in the darkness.

Luckily, perhaps, the wiser part of her brain didn’t let her off that easily. She had to make it right. She knew she’d done wrong. And when other people did wrong, they did what they could to fix it. Stella had never had much of an interest in being like other people, but in this case, maybe she needed to use their methods.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Scully opened her laptop, head pounding. Medically, she didn’t believe emotion could contribute to hangovers, but had they really had _that much_ to drink? She put on some music, too loud, took some tylenol with her morning coffee, and got stuck into her notes. She’d handled worse. That was a lie. No it wasn’t. It depended on your definition of worse. She’d handled things, and they’d definitely been bad. But they’d also been different. And about a man. A professor. A secret, a secret nobody was supposed to know, but Stella knew. Maybe she’d heard a rumour. Maybe _he_ had told her.

Maybe he had slept with her.

Scully slammed her head into the keyboard. He hadn’t slept with her. He couldn’t have. He’d ended things with _Scully_ because he’d gone back to his wife, his children, his grown up, adult, life. He’d said he loved her, more than he’d ever loved anyone, but that it was too dangerous, for both of them, to continue the ‘affair’. He’d never called it an affair before. Scully wondered if he knew how much he’d meant to her, how much she’d loved him, truly loved him.

He’d made her feel special, important, beautiful. And then he’d made her feel dirty and cheap, the quintessential stereotype. Last night, she’d felt that again. Sitting on the dam, drinking whisky straight from the bottle, talking to a woman who seemed to hold back nothing and everything at the same time. Why did she feel like she knew Stella? Why did she feel like Stella was important? She knew nothing about her. Except that she was mean.

Stella had probably heard the rumours about the redheaded loner who slept with Professor Waterston and recognised her from the story. Everything else had been a trick, a cruel joke so Stella could get her drunk and find more information, more gossip. Scully wondered when people would get bored of talking about it, when it would become old news. When she’d called him sobbing after the article in January (it was April now) David had said it would die down in a couple of days, people would move on to the next thing, especially when they realised there was nothing more to the story. Because there was nothing more to the story. He’d been cold, short even. He’d spoken to her as if she was a child, and he’d told her, perfectly calmly, that she shouldn’t call him again. Ever.

At least Scully hadn’t fallen for Stella’s fishing. Not completely. She hadn’t told her anything about _him_ , at least. Although she’d thought about it, she’d thought about finally having a friend, a confidant beyond her mother - someone she could talk about everything with.

Yet again, she thought back to when she’d had that with David. She’d looked up to him, and she’d thought, he to her. He said she had a unique perspective, a fresh way of looking at things that helped him with _his_ work. He’d never let her feel as if it was one sided, unbalanced. He’d always treated her as an equal, they’d talked for hours about everything and anything and he was always interested in everything she had to say. That was how it had started, with talking. She’d approached him after class with a question about a paper, a legitimate question, she might add, and she’d ended up walking with him to his office and staying there, drinking coffee, long into the night. He’d been a gentleman – not that his not forcing himself on her was anything special. But she’d known he was interested, and he’d tried to hold back. And failed. She knew he’d done wrong, she knew he was at fault more than she was in a way, but she also knew that she had wanted a lot from him, and had taken it with no regard for the consequences.

In the last few months, Scully had told herself sternly, and repeatedly, that her actions did indeed have consequences, and it was her responsibility to deal with them.

She wrote a page of notes, riddled with errors, meaningless shit. What was wrong with her? Sure, she’d done plenty of crying and moping around in her sweatpants, but that was over now, she’d moved on. She had. The rumours had fizzled out somewhat, not as quickly as he’d said they would, but things weren’t as bad as they had been. She could walk around campus now, at least. And she was free, free of him and his complications, which had been manifold, when she thought about it.

She was free, and lonely as hell. On track for med school. Nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about but Stella Gibson.

 

* * *

 

Stella went out for a cigarette, cradling her coffee mug as she sat (like a model) on the stairs in front of the international dorm. She was fine, she didn’t care, of course she didn’t. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d just pushed the button again, the button she always found, the red one labelled ‘do not press under any circumstances’. She wasn’t ashamed. Why should she be? Her curiosity was who she was.

Her ex had said she was a bloodhound.

And so what? Committed. Determined. Strong. She was proud to be these things.

Even if that meant hurting people.

Hurting people she wanted to like.

Hurting people she wished would like her.

Scully had liked her. She had known, it had felt… Stella had almost felt warm. But she’d pushed the button and it had all fallen apart and Stella had watched, horrified, as instead of telling her everything, Scully had walked away. Never to return.

No. That couldn’t be it. Stella sifted through her brain, trying to remember. She’d gotten drunker than she’d planned, she hadn’t been thinking. Everything had been fine, great in fact. They’d been having fun. And then she’d caught onto something, a sensitivity. To do with Scully and a professor. And Stella had wanted to know. Stella always wanted to know.

Stella had thought that Scully wanted to talk about it. She’d brought it up, after all. Stella had thought, or justified to herself, anyway, that Scully would appreciate the chance to admit it, to get it out in the open. But instead, she’d clammed up. And she’d been furious. Because… Why?

Stella wondered if there’d been rumours. She thought about Scully’s lack of friends, lack of involvement. And the break up. Stella had to remember that not everyone was like her. Scully had said, in fact, that she didn’t do casual relationships. So it had been serious, for Scully, at least. Stella hated this guy already.

And why did she hate him? It wasn’t as if Stella had any problem with leading people on, with taking what she wanted regardless of differences in feelings (usually that other people had them and she did not). But Scully. He’d hurt Scully.

_So what?_ Stella asked herself. But there was definitely a what. She didn’t want Scully to be hurt. She wanted Scully with her. She wanted Scully…

So Scully she would get.

It had always been that simple. Always. Stella finished the dregs of her coffee and wondered what was holding her back. Well, Scully, for one thing. Scully had pushed against her, hadn’t taken her shit. Not that it was shit, not that Stella had done anything wrong. But whatever, Scully had stopped and they had gone home.

Stella went back inside and opened her laptop. She would figure this out, she would (get what she wanted) make it right. Scully was easy to find on Facebook, and Stella perused her friend list, looking for college staff. There were a few. Scully was in those advanced classes where the professors made you dinner and gave you fancy wine. So. One of those.

But maybe not, maybe they unfriended each other, maybe they never used Facebook. Stella searched for a college paper, a shitty, rumour one. She did some guesswork. He would be older, he would have a wife. And it had to be old, this wasn’t new hurt. A few months back, maybe around Christmas, or just after?

She found a website, a few twitter accounts. She searched for obvious things. Dana Scully, but that didn’t bring up anything except a science award. Staff-student affairs. And there it was. Easy, almost too easy. Dr David Waterston spotted in his office kissing a redheaded undergrad hottie whose identity could not be determined. Shit. Poor Scully.

Stella felt bad for feeling that. Scully wouldn’t want or need her pity. But still. It must have been shitty. It probably still was. Even if she denied it. She checked for follow up articles. There were none. Maybe it was still going on. The professor still worked here, Stella had seen him. So it could be, they might still be together. Shit. That was even worse. But it wasn’t happy, Scully wasn’t happy about it.

Stella looked into Waterston. Yep, wife. And a daughter, a daughter their age.

“Sicko,” Stella muttered to herself, but she reconsidered.

She didn’t want to put it all on him, deny Scully her agency. Waterston was handsome, if you liked that sort of thing. And very smart, if you went by his published papers. Human biology, medicine. Scully had said she was pre-med. It made sense. Stella studied the picture in his biography on the college website. She could see it, she could see the attraction. And the fact that it was forbidden...

Stella wondered what to do next. It didn’t usually take her long to figure something out. She had to fix things with Scully, she had to find out if she was still with Waterston, she wanted to know exactly what had happened. And then she had to... Stella bit her lip. The things she was thinking, the things she was feeling, were setting off alarm bells all over the place in her mind. She should leave it, she should walk away while she still could. She should let it go. She was only here for a semester, she should get on with studying and leave Scully be. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have other options.

But she didn’t want the other options. She wanted Scully.

And Stella Gibson got what she wanted.

She opened Facebook again. It was still on Scully’s profile. She tapped out a message, quick and simple.

_I’m going for a drive, do you want to come?_

 

* * *

 

Scully was getting nowhere. She couldn’t concentrate, she’d showered, cleaned her room, eaten a disappointing breakfast of microwaved oatmeal, and now she was back at her desk staring down her notes as if willing them into her mind. It wasn’t working.

Her phone buzzed.

_You have a new message request from Stella Gibson._

Scully groaned. She didn’t want to deal with this now. Or ever. But... But, she was lonely, she was bored, she didn’t want to study, and she was a sucker for a good apology.

She opened the message, expecting grovelling.

_I’m going for a drive, do you want to come?_

Seriously? Not even a mention of last night? Scully groaned again. She should have known. Someone like Stella wouldn’t apologise. She’d probably pretend she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Maybe she hadn’t. Scully’s head hurt even more at that idea. What had she done, actually, apart from ask questions about a topic Scully had introduced, a topic Scully actually wished she could talk about?

_Yes,_ Scully replied before she could change her mind.

_Which dorm are you in? I’ll pick you up in 10._

Scully sent the address and pulled on some clothes, glad she didn’t have time to worry about an outfit. She went outside to smoke before Stella arrived, raising an eyebrow at the appearance of a bright red Porsche convertible.

“Did you steal this?” she asked by way of greeting, climbing into the passenger seat, continuing to smoke.

Stella popped open the ashtray.

“Would it turn you on if I said yes?”

Scully rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think turning me on should be your main concern right now.”

Stella pulled away from the kerb, trying not to let on how much she was thinking.

“What do you think my main concern should be?”

“Appeasement.”

“You know, I read that appeasement is an inherently flawed political strategy.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhm, it’s argued fairly widely that the UK’s attempts to appease Hitler in the 1930s were responsible for the deaths of thousands in other countries, and did nothing to prevent the war.”

“Are you saying war is inevitable?”

Stella chuckled. “Some kind of conflict, probably, yes.”

“Then why did you ask me to come with you?”

“I like to keep things interesting.”

“How did you know I would say yes?”

Stella realised honesty might work in her favour.

“I didn’t,” she admitted. “I hoped you would... Why did you say yes?”

Scully had been wondering this herself.

“To find out what you were trying to do last night,” she decided. “You asked me about... Well, you asked me, anyway, and I want to know why.”

Cutting right to it then, Stella thought, amused. Scully reminded her of herself in some ways. Determined, cold.  But not that cold. Not like Stella. Recently cold. Maybe, below the surface, not cold at all.

“Because I like knowing things,” Stella said.

“And that’s the only reason?” Scully pressed.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t know about it before?”

Stella took her eyes off the road for a moment to look directly at Scully.

“No. Scully, you’re going to have to trust me. I didn’t know anything about it.”

“The way you’re talking suggests otherwise,” Scully said, and it was true. Somehow, Stella sounded as if she knew everything.

“I didn’t know anything. This morning, I... I investigated.”

Scully sighed. She hated the internet. Sometimes she wished she could have been born twenty years earlier.

“What did you find?” she asked.

Stella paused. “Might it be better if you told me your version of things? I know I don’t know the whole story.”

“I suppose it would,” Scully said. “But I don’t... I’m not ready to talk about it with you. I wasn’t ready last night, and instead of accepting that, you pushed me. Don’t push me again.”

The warning in her tone was clear, and Stella definitely didn’t miss it.

“Understood,” she said. “I’m...” she trailed off, the unfamiliar word getting lost in her throat.

Scully waited. For all she told herself she didn’t care, she had a feeling the future of their friendship hung on Stella’s ability to produce the next two syllables.

“Sorry,” Stella finished, with considerable effort.

Scully smiled at her.

“I appreciate that. And I’m sorry too, I probably overreacted. I got pretty used to people cosying up to me only to realise they just wanted to talk about... About David.”

“Shit, yeah, I guess... People will be like that. But I’m not. I’m nosy, for sure, but for no purpose other than my own selfish curiosity.”

Scully chuckled. “Good to know. I think. Speaking of trust, by the way, I have no idea where we’re going.”

Stella laughed. “I’m tempted to say me neither, but I do have an idea.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t you want to be surprised?” she teased.

“Not particularly.”

Sensing the lingering fragility in their interaction, Stella opted to save the rest of her teasing for later.

“I thought we could go to the beach.”

Scully’s eyes widened. It was a beautiful day, but she’d never thought to drive out that far for a daytrip.

“That’s three hours away, at least!”

Stella grinned. “I figured that would be plenty of time to convince you not to hate me.”

“I never hated you. Not really.”

“Last night, I think you did.”

“Whisky Dana isn’t the real me.”

“No... You’re definitely a Scully, even when you’re drunk.”

“It makes me think of my father. In a good way.”

“You’re close with him?”

“Yes, in some ways. We care about each other, a lot. What about you and your family?”

“I was close with my dad, too,” Stella said shortly, revealing a sensitivity of her own.

Scully, perhaps wiser, perhaps simply sober, knew better than to push.

“I don’t have any of my beach stuff,” she said, going for a light subject change.

Stella gestured to the backseat. “I brought extra, I think you’re about my size.”

Scully wondered what type of swimsuit person Stella was. Boldly, she decided to wonder out loud, which made Stella laugh.

“At the pool, boring speedo. I’m a swimmer, I race back home. On the beach, I’m probably more modest than you expect.”

“What do you think I’m expecting?”

Stella shrugged. “Most people seem to peg me for the skimpy bikini type, because of my hair maybe. Or my tits.”  

“But you’re not?” Scully only barely veiled her disappointment.

“No, I’m not. I do own such a bikini, though. I brought it for you.”

Scully flushed slightly; Stella grinned and put a hand on her knee.

“Calm down, cookie, I’m joking. Unless you want to wear it.”

Scully smiled, looking at the twinkling eyes across the car. The hand on her knee lingered for so long she wondered if Stella had forgotten about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ship is my new catnip. Any suggestions or requests for other Stella/Scully fics are more than welcome!


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